Finding Roxton
by ficscribbler
Summary: Roxton loses more than just his memory when attacked on the trail to the Zanga village. Now his friends must help him recover, or all their lives will be forfeit.


**Finding Roxton**

Summary: _Roxton loses more than just his memory when attacked on the trail to the Zanga village. Now his friends must help him recover, or all their lives will be forfeit._

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to New Line Television, the Over the Hill Gang, et al, …_

* * *

"Lord John Roxton, the Great White Hunter, king of the jungle and tracker extraordinaire -" Marguerite's carefully cultured voice was rising with each word, "_is lost_?!"

He could feel his ears redden. "Not lost, Marguerite," he snapped back indignantly, "We're just further away from the tree house than I anticipated. We got off track yesterday when we had that little race with the raptors. But I know where we are."

She crossed her arms in disgust. "You said that two hours ago!"

He sighed.

She was right. He _had_ said the same thing two hours ago when it first became obvious to him that they weren't seeing landmarks they should have been seeing. "We've just come further along the mountain side than I thought initially, Marguerite. We've come down into the wrong valley. We just have to go back up, and get back on track, that's all."

"Back up?" she echoed shrilly. "Back up that bloody mountainside? The one we just spent nearly two hours coming down?"

"Come on, Marguerite, look on the bright side," he coaxed, with a charming smile down at the unhappy woman. "We get to spend more time, just the two of us."

She raised one skeptical brow. "Oh, sure. More time, just the two of us! Hiking back _up_ a mountainside on a day when it's so hot that you could fry an egg in mid-air," she waved a hand dramatically, sarcasm fairly dripping from her words. "But you and I will enjoy being together while we drip with sweat and itch with the grime and bugs we accumulated on the way _down _the mountainside, - avoiding, of course, the lovely shale field we fell down, now that we've already seen it once! Oh, yes, Roxton, it will be so special, getting to go _back up_ the bloody mountain again with you! That's going to be real fun, isn't it?" she glared at him, balled fists now on her shapely hips.

Lord John Roxton sighed in frustration. "Well, it _could_ be, if you'd choose to have a better attitude, Marguerite," he ground out between clenched jaws, already envisioning having to listen to her complaints all the way back up to where they could begin correcting their trail. It would probably take half again as long to climb back out of the valley, and she was going to make him pay the entire way, he could tell already! He muttered something under his breath, using his sleeve to wipe his brow before he replaced his hat on his head.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked ominously, having caught at least part of his sentence.

He glared balefully at her. "I said," he repeated stonily, "That it was your fault as much as mine." He narrowed his eyes, waiting for her response.

The beautiful brunette's jaw dropped. "And just how do you figure that?" she demanded.

Defensively, chin thrust out, he snapped, "We took this little detour because I was so busy watching _your_ delightful backside that I wasn't paying attention to where we were going!"

She blinked. She stared at him, motionless for a long moment as she digested his words.

He braced himself for the next wave of her wrath, facing her defiantly.

To his complete bemusement, all sign of ire abruptly faded from her eyes, turning them from storm gray to green-blue, and she gave him a rather pleased smile. "Oh. Well, in that case," she shrugged her slender shoulders, "You're forgiven," she said sweetly.

He stared after her in blank astonishment as she turned and started climbing back the way they'd come. After a moment, he snapped his mouth closed, shook his head in bemusement, and started after her.

He was never going to be able to fathom the workings of this unpredictable woman's mind, he decided, picking up his pace to catch up with her as she called over her shoulder, calmly, "Come on, John! We're already going to be terribly late getting back with Veronica's precious package, and they're going to be worried about us!"

* * *

Veronica paced back and forth on the tree house's upper balcony, casting anxious looks down into the jungle. "Where are they?" she fumed, for the tenth time.

Ned knew, because he'd been keeping track.

The young American reporter made another tally mark on his wrist beside the Roman numeral for three. There were already seven tally marks by Roman numeral "one" ( for the times the beautiful blonde jungle girl had wondered about what could be keeping them ), and six more tally marks beside Roman numeral "two" ( for whether she should just go meet them ), along with twenty-three tallies for how many times Veronica had asked what time it was.

George Challenger restrained a grin as he watched Ned's blue eyes follow Veronica's pacing, pen and ink ready, poised to place the next tally. Veronica had not yet noticed what Ned was doing, and the professor didn't want to be the one to tip her off to the little game. Veronica wasn't in the kind of mood where she might be amused at Ned's antics.

No, this was too important to their young hostess. To all of them, in fact, he reflected.

Her arm was in a sling, and there were bandages on her left thigh. He'd been keeping an eye on the thigh, warily watching for signs that she'd broken open the stitches with her restless pacing. But so far the only thing he'd noted was that her limp was getting more pronounced.

If not for these injuries incurred while battling the warriors that had attacked her Zanga friends, Veronica would've gone for the package herself. Instead, she'd reluctantly accepted sending John and Marguerite to fetch it in her place, while she had to remain behind in the tree house under Challenger and Malone's watchful care as her injuries healed.

It wasn't that Veronica didn't trust the British Lord and the lovely geologist. She did. But the object she'd given them directions to find was the only thing that was going to prevent an all out war between the Zanga and another tribe with way too many warriors. Producing it was the condition for ratifying the shaky peace treaty Challenger had managed to institute, with Marguerite's help as translator.

So much damage had been done in the four days of running battles between their Zanga neighbors and the opposing tribe! Homes destroyed, crops ravaged, good men dead - and all over a mere _rumor_ that a sacred object had been desecrated by the Zanga! The Bu'tah hadn't even bothered to check to see if the rumor were true - going near the sacred object was taboo for them, it turned out, and they'd simply acted on the rumor that reached them instead of trying to find a way to verify it. The attack had taken the peaceful Zanga totally off guard, and if the five inhabitants of the tree house hadn't been visiting their friends, the Zanga wouldn't have had a chance.

The guns of the stranded explorers, and their experience in battle, had turned the tide enough that the Bu'tah had been willing to listen when Marguerite, following George's instructions, had shouted out a request in the Bu'tah language for a parlay.

The lanky red-haired scientist had been able to convince the Bu'tah to permit a cessation of hostilities, allow the wounded to be cared for, and keep only a handful of Zanga hostages. In exchange, the Zanga would send two people to retrieve the sacred object and bring it back as proof that the Zanga hadn't harmed it. As soon as this was done, the Bu'tah would release the hostages and make reparations by helping the Zanga with rebuilding, replanting and hunting.

Lord John Roxton had been chosen by the Zanga to retrieve the sacred item, because of their great respect for the favored hunter. Since the treasure was in the territory of yet a third tribe that would need to be communicated with in order to bring the artifact back, Marguerite had been chosen as the second person for the quest. With Veronica injured and unable to make the hard trek, the gray-green-eyed heiress, with her uncanny skill in languages, had agreed to join Roxton in fetching the treasured object and bringing it back before the deadline.

The Bu'tah had objected to the Zanga sending two non-tribal members, but the selection had been justified by Veronica's long-standing blood-sisterhood with Assai, along with the irrefutable fact that the Bu'tah's vicious surprise attack had incapacitated nearly every able-bodied man the Zanga could have sent. The few warriors left who were strong enough to make the trek in the time allotted were needed to help care for the wounded and handle the needs of survival for the others. So the Bu'tah had agreed . . . with the added stipulation that they would slaughter the inhabitants of the tree house, as well as the Zanga, if the messengers did not return.

So Veronica paced, knowing there were at least three Bu'tah sentries she'd already spotted watching the tree house, probably more, and others watching the Zanga village - and frustrated that her friends were later than anticipated in arriving back at the tree house. From here they would return to the Zanga village together to finish up the parlay and end the hostilities.

Her two male companions had given up trying to get her to settle down.

Veronica, having been raised here on the plateau, was used to a very active lifestyle. She didn't like having to sit by and wait. The first two days hadn't been too hard to bear, because she'd been pre-occupied with managing the pain, and pretty much unable to move from her bed. The third day, though, she'd begun to get restless, and Ned had carried her out to the balcony to read in the fresh air and sunshine.

Yesterday, the fourth day after John and Marguerite had set out, she'd spent in quiet painting, resigned to the fact that even she couldn't have made it to the other territory and back in any less than five days. And even for her, that would've been a hasty trip up the mountain, along the crest and two valleys over, then back again. Roxton and Marguerite could be expected to be back any time from the fifth day onward, giving them a couple days to spare, for safety's sake.

It had sounded good when she discussed it with Challenger before they had set the terms. But now that the sun was beginning to set on the fifth day, Veronica was questioning her reasoning. And she was really antsy to get out there and see where her friends were.

"What time is it?" she asked Ned.

"About seven," he replied blandly, and made another tally mark. Twenty-four.

Challenger bit back a chuckle, and got to his feet to assemble a light dinner. He had a feeling none of them would really feel like a hot meal tonight. As he left the open room, he heard Veronica sigh and come inside to sit beside Ned.

A moment later, the scientist heard a curious, "Ned, what's that on your wrist?"

"Uh -"

Challenger was very glad he was in the kitchen, and not in there with the young couple. He did _not_ want to hear Ned's attempt to explain this to Veronica.

* * *

"We're going to have to stop again for the night."

Marguerite bit back a groan. "Can we at least stop near water deep enough to bathe in this time?" she asked in resignation, looking up at him with pleading eyes as she walked beside him.

The tall hunter squinted his eyes, surveying the trail they were passing over. "I think I remember a spot that would do, yes," he nodded at last, and was rewarded with a sunny smile.

She really had been a pretty good sport, all things considered, on this little outing.

He'd kept them to a pretty tough pace, but Marguerite hadn't held him back. Well, not any more than he would hold back for anyone other than Veronica. Even the jungle girl had to take to the trees on occasion to keep up with his long-legged stride when he was setting a pace without others to consider. But Roxton was impressed with the stamina his companion was exhibiting on this urgent hike. Of course, the slender brunette was stronger than she looked, capable of much more than she usually let on, but this terrain had been grueling, and although she'd put forth her usual grumbling, Marguerite had diligently striven to keep up with him.

So indulging her by finding a camp near a pool of water seemed like a good idea.

Especially if she was going to favor him with her breathtaking smiles!

As they continued toward the campsite he recalled from the out-bound hike, he watched her walking with renewed bounce toward the imminent source of pleasure. She surely did love to be clean! Long treks like this, when they often went days without bathing, were one of the former heiress's pet peeves. She could - and frequently had, he recollected with a wince - mutter on for hours, grumbling about the discomfort of enduring the limited facilities on the plateau.

She'd refrained from doing it this time, to his relief. She'd also refrained from asking for breaks every half hour, and hadn't been trying to avoid helping to make or break the camps they made for night time. She hadn't even mentioned how much she hated being stranded on this plateau.

Yup. It had been a pretty pleasant trip . . . aside from minor tiffs like the one at the bottom of the mountain earlier today.

Even taking into account his unintended detour down the wrong side of the mountain, they should be able to get back to their own territory with about a day to spare. A little late, but they were close enough now that Roxton was beginning to feel like they could take it a little easier. Plenty of time for his lady to enjoy a leisurely bath in a stream while he stood guard, before they ate dinner and got some sleep for the final leg of the trek home.

Marguerite's eyes were nearly sapphire blue as she anticipated the refreshing dip in the stream she could now hear gurgling merrily off to their left.

Having to go without bathing was a disturbing reminder to the European beauty of the all-too-frequent times in her past when she'd struggled for basics like food and shelter, and washing had been a luxury to which she had no access. She knew that the others didn't understand what bathing symbolized to her, and she couldn't explain it without going into detail that she wasn't keen on sharing about her past.

Of course it annoyed the others at times, especially when it inconvenienced them to have to

come stand guard while she bathed. But cleanliness wasn't something she was willing to give up.

Roxton agreeing to find a camp close to a suitable place for bathing was a favor she appreciated wholeheartedly. She vowed to herself that she would repay this delightful boon, somehow.

Maybe a little romantic time, perhaps a picnic for just the two of them. Of course that would really be a reward to herself, not just John. Maybe she'd ask Veronica for permission to go through some of the trunks in the storage room, and remake some of the clothes to replace some of John's that were wearing thin after so long on the plateau. Or perhaps she could simply give him the gift of controlling her temper for a period of time, instead of indulging it.

But she would definitely do something nice for the broad-shouldered man who was providing her this much-valued pleasure. Ooh, she couldn't wait to wash away this grime and filth feeling!

* * *

Ned leaped from his bed, blue eyes wide open, panting in alarm. "Challenger! Veronica!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, charging into the hallway. "Challenger! Veronica!"

He collided with Veronica as she lurched out of her own bedroom doorway, and they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms, legs and frothy material, with grunts and groans of pain.

George Challenger stumbled out his own door, and blinked down at them in astonishment. "What is it? What's happened?"

Ned, trying to unwrap his legs from Veronica's, red-faced and muttering continual apologies, looked up. "Vision!" his voice was grim as he clipped out the single word, then refocused on getting off Veronica as she began to get frustrated with the process when the trail of her nightgown got wrapped around Ned's arm. When the older woman had given her this - thing! – she'd told Marguerite it was pretty to look at, but totally impractical! The material felt nice and looked nice, but there was entirely too much of the stuff to move with her accustomed freedom while wearing it!

A vision.

The scientist frowned, and pushed a hand through his disheveled hair. Really should have Marguerite trim his hair when she got back, came the errant thought as he proceeded to reach down a hand to the pair now ready to rise as Ned managed to free his forearm from the frilly material.

Vision.

Veronica accepted the hand up, her own blue eyes meeting those of the eldest of her tree house family. A vision. This was not going to be good.

Ned had been having a number of visions since returning to them.

Rarely had anything good been shown in one of his visions.

Ned finished freeing himself from the last trailing bit of lace as he got to his own feet. "Roxton and Marguerite. Attacked. We have to get to them," he blurted out, rapid fire. "We have to go _now!_"

Challenger frowned, puzzled at the younger man's urgency. "Easy, lad. Slow down. Just tell us what you saw."

Ned scowled impatiently. "I just did!" he said in frustration. "I saw Roxton and Marguerite being attacked -"

"Where were they? Describe what you saw," Veronica interrupted, laying a soothing hand on his arm. He shook her hand off, almost hopping up and down in his agitation, startling both his friends into sharing his alarm. Ned could be excitable, but this was clearly big trouble.

"No! We have to go _now_! I'll describe it as we go!"

Challenger nodded decisively, reaching the same conclusion as Veronica. "Alright. Everyone get dressed. Veronica, I want to wrap up that leg extra tight, provide you some more support, and make sure your forearm is immobilized, as soon as you pack some food. Ned, get the guns and plenty of ammunition. I'll pack first aid supplies as well. And for goodness sake, keep it down! The Bu'tah guards are sure to have heard the shouting and we'll have to elude them as it is!"

They worked smoothly, quietly, with the ease of long practice getting ready to meet new dangers at a moment's notice. They were dressed, packed, and ready to go in less than twenty minutes, all without further sound and using only the moonlight that filtered into the tree house so as not give their guards any additional clue that they were up and moving about.

Veronica descended first as soon as the moon went behind the clouds, working silently down from the tree house to the ground on a vine, with only her good arm. She made short work of the three guards, knocking each one unconscious with the hilt of her knife. Simple, really, she thought smugly. Then she signaled the two men to follow.

As soon as the men saw her step in and out of the shadowed tree line at the prearranged place, they also used the vine to descend to the jungle floor. They didn't want to alert any other possible Bu'tah guards with the noise of the elevator. The trio started off toward the mountain that Roxton and Marguerite had headed towards nearly five days ago.

Once they were a safe distance from the tree house, Ned began to fill them in on what he'd seen in his vision. "Marguerite was just finishing bathing -"

"Figures!"

He ignored Veronica's snorted comment and continued, "When about a dozen ape men came at them from both sides of the stream. One got hold of Marguerite, but she threw him over her shoulder into the stream. Roxton shot two, then had his rifle knocked out of his hands by two more that pushed him to the ground. Marguerite was really ticked, and she reached for her pistol and shot the two who had John pinned down. Another ape man smacked her in the back with a club and sent her flying into some bushes. John had drawn his Webleys by then, so he shot that one, and the ape men broke and ran. But they regrouped, and came back for another try."

"Where were they?" Veronica asked alertly, keeping pace with the two men as they hurried along the faint jungle trail that headed toward the mountains.

"I don't know. I didn't see any specific location. Just the stream and the hillside they ran down to escape the second attack." Ned shook his head. "In my vision, they were chased for maybe half a mile before Roxton pulled Marguerite into a deadfall to make a stand. It seemed like there were more ape men this time. Reinforcements, maybe. But Roxton emptied his Webleys, and Marguerite had already reloaded once before the second attack broke." His voice was full of dread.

When he didn't continue, Challenger prompted, "And then?"

Ned hesitated, then said slowly, "I saw a third attack . . . and Roxton and Marguerite running like mad, helter-skelter down a steep incline full of brush and boulders . . . they tried to pass through a stream, or a small river, that had whitewater on it, and the current took them. I saw them get washed up at a bend, on a grassy bank . . . and just lay there, all battered. They didn't move."

Veronica nodded grimly. "Alright. That's good detail, Ned. I know a place like that, near where Roxton and Marguerite should've passed on their way home. We can head straight there and join them in a couple hours! Let's go!"

She took point, making her way with certainty despite the darkness of the jungle. If she was right, then that place was one where her father had sometimes taken her fishing, saying it was a perfect place to spend a quiet day or two.

Hopefully, they'd find their friends headed this way, relatively unharmed from the double threat of ape men and being tossed through the whitewater . . . but how likely was that, given what Ned had seen? Veronica pushed forward, determined to waste no time; they had to give Roxton and Marguerite the best chance possible.

* * *

He opened his eyes and groaned. His whole body ached! What the devil had happened?

Grass. Nice smelling stuff, but it was tickling his nose. Slowly he lifted his head, until he could see beyond the grass his face was pressed into. There was the water he could hear, there, just a few feet away. In fact, he realized, the tug he felt on his legs was caused by the lower half of his body still being in the water that was rushing by. That also explained why he felt damp. He must've been in that rushing water, washed up here at the bend in the river . . . or stream . . . or whatever it was.

He held still a moment longer, cautiously checking his limbs. Nothing broken, though he certainly felt bruised everywhere. He pulled himself further out of the water and rolled onto his back. So far, so good. Things spun a little; his head was really aching. He raised a hand up to his forehead, and found the source of that particular pain. There was a large, very tender bump just along the hairline on his left temple. He winced and let it alone.

Carefully, he sat up, balancing by bracing himself with his arms until his unfamiliar surroundings stopped spinning again. Once his vision cleared, he took stock of himself. He was wearing a blue striped shirt and khaki colored pants, empty shoulder holsters hung at his ribs, and everything on him was wet and streaked with mud.

Hmm. Pretty place. Lots of trees, wildflowers, lady to his left . . .

Lady to his left?

He frowned. She must have been through the same ordeal, he decided as he studied her. She lay on her side, unmoving, partly in the water, as he'd been, her back facing him. Her long dark hair was tangled and matted with mud, and her khaki pants and purple blouse were as mud-streaked as his own. Also like him, she wore a gun holster that had no gun in it - though her holster was around her waist, not over her shoulders as his were. Nice curves, he noted with interest. He was about to move over to her - or try to, anyway - when she groaned and stirred.

She shifted slowly, sitting up and warily extending her arms and legs, clearly testing for injuries. "Ugh!" she sighed, trying to brush some of the mud off her arms. "Oh, great," he heard her mutter unhappily. "Why couldn't this have happened _before_ I had a bath?!" She gave a low grunt of pain as she leaned forward into the water to rinse off the worst of the mud she had accumulated as they were rolled over the muddy riverbeds on their way down river. She was obviously bruised, too, he decided, watching the gingerly way she moved as she rinsed off.

Then she stiffened, as if remembering something, and turned sharply, calling anxiously, "Roxton!" Her frantic gaze fell on him almost immediately. "Oh, there you are!"

She was definitely relieved to see him sitting there a couple feet from her, and looked him over with concern as she settled on her knees at the water's edge. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you, no permanent damage," he replied politely. "How about you?"

She frowned slightly at his tone, and searched his face. "John, are you sure you're okay? You've got quite a bump, here." She rose and moved closer, kneeling gracefully beside him to touch his forehead with gentle fingers.

He admired her striking blue-green eyes, and noticed her delicate bone structure with delight. "You're very beautiful," he said softly, and she grinned at him.

"Yeah, right! Half drowned and half mud rat!" she laughed, meeting his eyes. Her laughter died away, and her brow furrowed as she studied his expression again. Something wasn't right. "John?"

He shrugged, resting his arms lightly across his knees, still smiling in open admiration at the slender beauty beside him. "If you say so."

The marvelous, thick-lashed eyes widened. "What do you mean, if I say so?" she asked with growing trepidation. "John, you're scaring me."

He straightened up. "Sorry." A bit ruefully, he added, "I don't want to frighten you, miss, but the truth is . . . I don't think I remember my name. You called me John? Do I know you?" he asked hopefully.

Her heart sank. "Oh wonderful! Could this day get any better?" she sighed, sinking down onto the grass, staring at him in dismay. "You really don't remember who you are?"

He shook his head, then winced, regretting the incautious movement.

She stared at him for a long moment.

Interesting, he thought as he noticed that her eyes seemed to be gray now. He was sure they'd been blue-green a moment before. In fact, her whole demeanor was changing. She had tensed and an air of . . . command . . . was settling on her slim shoulders. Her gaze sharpened, and went to his shoulder holsters. Then she checked the holster belted at her waist. Her hand settled on the hilt of her knife, safely in its scabbard on the same belt. She looked to his shoulders, then touched her own with one hand, and twisted to look around behind them on the grassy river bank.

She was taking inventory, he realized, watching her as she rose to her feet and looked around more carefully, her lithe body alert and ready to respond to danger.

He rose to his feet, too, pleased that he managed the movement without the dizziness this time, and cautiously surveyed their surroundings as well. The lady seemed to know what she was doing, and if she was looking for danger, then he should be on guard as well. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well, aside from the fact that _you're_ the expert on survival and tracking and you've lost your memory," she replied matter-of-factly, turning to face him again as she completed her survey of the perimeter, "We've lost our guns and our backpacks. That means we have no food and no spare supplies. We're still a day's hike from home . . . I think . . . and most important of all, we've lost the Bu'tah sacred stone."

"We've lost what?"

Marguerite sighed, absently raised one hand to rub her forehead, and studied the tall handsome man before her. "Okay. Tell you what . . . we really need to find your backpack. I'll fill you in as we go. I'm pretty sure you didn't have it on when the river current caught us, because after we were swept off our feet the water hurled me into your back and I remember being glad you didn't have the pack on. You carry the extra ammo, the torches, the binoculars, the signal mirror, and the rope, and it would've hurt to smack into all those edges." She crisply explained her reasoning, concluding, "So the backpack can't be downstream. We have to go back upstream, where we came from."

She took his arm and turned him to walk along the riverbank, upstream, and then gave him a slightly startled look as he promptly bent his elbow so that her hand slid into place as if he were escorting her formally. So . . . he still had the instincts of his gentlemanly upbringing. What other instinctive reactions could she count on from him while he had amnesia? Hopefully his fighting skills were intact, because they were going to have to head right back into ape man territory.

"What do I call you, miss?" he asked respectfully, earning himself another startled look from those beautiful eyes.

"Marguerite. You call me Marguerite," she answered as they walked along. He'd adjusted his stride to match the pace she was setting, which was quicker than her preferred stroll, but not as fast a pace as he'd have ordinarily established. "Your name is John Roxton. Lord John Roxton. Sound familiar?" she asked without much real hope. That would be just too easy.

Sure enough, his greenish-hazel eyes showed no sign of recognition. "Lord John Roxton," he repeated, and his brow furrowed just a little. "No, it doesn't ring any bells."

"Well, what _do_ you remember?" she asked patiently.

He thought about it. "Actually," he admitted after a long pause, "Nothing. I mean, I know I'm a man and you're a woman, and we're out in the woods somewhere, just washed ashore by a river. But why, where, how, when, and who . . ." he apologetically shrugged his broad shoulders.

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay. So . . . I'll tell you about yourself, okay? Maybe something will spark a memory. Let's see . . . You're Lord John Roxton. Your family estate is in Avebury. Do you remember England, John?"

England. "Yes, I think so. It's an island, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes! That's good, John!" Marguerite was encouraged. So he hadn't forgotten everything after all. "Right, England is an island. But we're not in England. We're in South America, on a plateau. We came here three years ago with a scientific expedition, to find proof of the existence of living dinosaurs."

"Of what?" he asked, startled.

"Dinosaurs. Do you remember anything about dinosaurs?"

"Evolutionary theories? Sure. But dinosaurs don't exist today. Er - what is today?"

"1922. But they do exist, John." She held up a hand to silence him as he would have argued. "Not right now, John. We can argue that one later. You're a world famous big game hunter. You came along on this expedition to bag yourself a trophy, preferably a T-rex. There were five of us."

"_You_ came along on a scientific expedition?" he interrupted doubtfully.

She sighed. She'd nearly forgotten his initial attitude about whether a woman belonged on such an arduous undertaking. He'd been almost insulting when they'd first met, sure that she couldn't keep up or contribute to the expedition. Great. As if she didn't have enough to deal with right now!

"I'm a geologist, John. I also have a gift with languages and know a about ancient civilizations and cultures. I funded the trip, and I came along." Her voice was flat, and the look she gave him caused him to refrain from making any more comments about this particular topic.

Hmm. Her eyes were definitely gray - like storm clouds.

She continued, "Besides you and I, the Expedition included Ned Malone, Professor Arthur Summerlee, and Professor George Challenger. Ned is an American - remember North America? He's a reporter who came along to get the scoop of his life by reporting on what was found here. Arthur Summerlee was a botanist -"

"Was?" he caught the past tense. There was a flicker of sadness in her eyes - were they green now?

"He was the eldest of us, and he was shot, then fell off a bridge during a battle we had with marauders. He washed over a waterfall, and we have no idea if he survived. But he's not with us, and it was almost two years ago that we lost him." She glanced up at him and added, "He was the representative of the Royal Zoological Society, asked along to witness whether George's theories would be proved or disproved."

"George?"

"Yes, George Challenger. He's a genius. He was traveling here in South America several years ago and met a severely injured explorer who died shortly afterwards. But Maple White - the explorer - left behind his photographic plates and his journals. They recounted details of a lost world on a hidden plateau here in South America, where dinosaurs still live. George took the information back to England and tried to present it. Of course, he was mocked, so he dared the Society to put together an expedition to prove he was wrong. And we were it." She paused and asked, "Sound familiar?" as he helped her climb up a particularly steep part of the embankment beside the river. He was giving her a boost, expecting the effort to be too much for her, she noticed, amused at his attention to 'helping' her over the rough spots.

"No. But keep going."

She heaved a longsuffering sigh. "We found this plateau . . ."

* * *

George Challenger stopped and took a long drink from his canteen. The sun was rising now, enabling them to move faster, though it also made it even hotter and more humid. Veronica was holding up well, adrenaline overcoming any weakness in her wounded leg as they continued the steady hike into the mountain country.

By now, the Bu'tah would have found the guards she'd knocked out, and they would have realized that the tree house trio had gone. The natives would have no idea why, of course, and they'd think the truce had been broken. But there'd been no other option.

George could only hope that the Zanga, safely inside their fortified village, would be able to hold the Bu'tah off until the explorers could return. At least they wouldn't be caught outside this time, working in their fields. They'd been keeping everyone inside the walls of their village until Roxton and Marguerite could get back, so as not to tempt the angry Bu'tah warriors to any rash moves.

Ned was facing forward, already looking for any familiar landmarks from his vision, although Veronica had told him they were still at least one hour, maybe more, from the area.

The young reporter felt such a deep responsibility for anything he saw in his visions! He was much more sober-minded now than before he'd gone away on his journey of self-exploration, and also more self-sufficient than he'd been before.

George had once told the lad that he was a watcher, not a doer. That, he decided, was no longer true. Ned was still a bit of a dreamer, thoughtful and introspective, but there was no longer the same innocence and lack of self-assurance that had marked him when they first arrived on the plateau. He'd gained a great deal of inner strength and character through their struggles to survive, as well as on his journey apart from the others. He no longer waited for John Roxton or George Challenger to take the lead, but was comfortable and capable of striking out in a lead position with the group.

And he wasn't going to rest until he found his friends.

Veronica was poised behind them on the slight rise of ground where they'd stopped to catch their breath and take a needed drink. She was looking back the way they'd come, toward the tree house that had been her home since she was born. She was expecting the Bu'tah to send someone after them. They hadn't taken any time to cover their trail, having agreed not to bother. It was more important to find Roxton, Marguerite, and the sacred stone than to waste time covering their back trail. But they still needed to be aware of potential trouble from behind.

George recapped his canteen and nodded to the younger members of the trio.

Veronica turned and started out again, Ned right behind her.

George sighed as he followed them. Oh, for the energy and strength of youth! This was going to be a long, difficult hike! And today would definitely be even hotter than yesterday had been. The plateau summer was definitely here!

Marguerite was probably driving poor John crazy with her complaints about the insects that arose with the tropic heat. At least, he hoped she was well enough to be giving John her usual hassles.

* * *

He caught her arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop, and glared down at her. "You can't possibly expect me to believe this rubbish!" he rebuked the lovely brunette.

Marguerite's eyes - blast, but they had changed color yet again, to a silvery green! - narrowed as she faced him, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head, lips compressed as she insisted, "Every word I've told you is the truth, John Richard Roxton!"

"I've lost my memory, not my mind!" he retorted. "Now, I don't know what you hope to gain by telling me such ridiculous tales, but I want the truth! No more of this rot about dinosaurs and lizard men and - and - and - bloody shifting planes of reality!"

She glared right back at him, not at all intimidated by his greater height and strength, but openly frustrated with him. "You -" She swallowed her irritated words, visibly struggling with her own temper, chest heaving with the effort of not venting her wrath over his accusation that she wasn't telling the truth. Instead she contented herself with a seething, venomous look that made him take an abrupt step backwards.

His startled expression and instinctively-defensive boxing posture broke her irate mood. He relaxed slowly as her eyes changed yet again, filling with humor. Her lips relaxed, twitched, then lifted in a smile. Her whole demeanor softened, and she lifted one hand, open palmed, in a gesture of reassurance. "Don't worry," she teased, "I'm not in the mood to kill you just now."

Somehow, he wasn't completely convinced about that. He suddenly had the feeling that this woman was quite capable of killing him, if she should choose to do so. He eyed her warily. "Good. So how about trying some realism here? What's really going on?"

Her amusement vanished, and she sighed in resignation. "Roxton, could you just work with me here? Just a little?" she asked wearily, tugging her shirt loose from her pants and bending to use it to wipe her forehead. It didn't help much, since the silk shirt was quite damp with perspiration. She straightened back up and met his gaze again.

He was about to insist that he wasn't going to let her bamboozle him with these ridiculous stories about genies and giants and witches and fountains of youth - _Camelot_, for goodness sake! In the middle of South America! _Pirates_ falling from the air into an inland sea, and buried treasure, hundreds of miles inland! But his eye was drawn to a sudden movement behind Marguerite, and he shouted, "Drop!"

She instantly obeyed him, and even as she ducked he smashed his fist over her lowered head, into the face of . . . of . . . an ape man?!

Had he just hit _an ape man_?!

There wasn't time to think about it. Another creature was making a grab for the brunette, who apparently wasn't as big a tale-teller as he'd believed, and he reacted by defending her.

Things were a little thick for the next few minutes as they both fought for their lives against the half dozen or so hairy man-like creatures who came charging out of the brush around them. He simply did what came naturally, finding that he had good balance and a powerful right uppercut, a pretty good left, and really good reaction time. He was able to dodge most of the blows aimed at him, and to land most of the ones he aimed at them. His hand went to his belt quite automatically, producing his knife and using it as if it were an extension of his arm.

He also noticed that the lady he'd just almost provoked into a fist fight was pretty handy with those small fists - and downright deadly with her own knife. She held her own quite well, and only needed him to intervene twice. It looked like Marguerite had plenty of experience dealing with these primitive creatures. She certainly knew their strengths and weaknesses, and how to use each to her advantage. The last two ape men broke and ran when they realized the odds were against them.

Chest heaving, Lord John Roxton stood in the midst of the other bodies, watching their astounding attackers flee, then turned to look at the woman. Was she okay?

Her hair was a tangled mass, her braid having been pulled loose in the battle. An intriguing lace camisole was now revealed where the buttons were missing from her blouse, torn away in hand to . . . furry hand . . . combat with the creatures. Blood from one of her attackers was splattered across her hand and sleeve from when she'd successfully knifed one of them. She was pulling one long slim leg from between the dead bodies of two of their attackers, with the still-bloody knife in her delicate hand, and her eyes were flashing blue fire as she caught her breath. One last glance around to be certain the battle had ended, and she rounded on him. "_Now_ do you believe me?!" she demanded with a triumphant smile that astonished him.

She was incredible!

She leaned down, inserted her knife to its hilt in the ground and withdrew it again to clean off the blade, then wiped it dry with the leaves of the nearest bush. Every movement gave clear testimony to her comfortable familiarity with the use of the weapon. She slipped it back into its sheath at her waist, eyes alertly scanning their battlefield, and then gave a crow of delight and pounced on one of the bodies nearer to John. "Jackpot!" she exclaimed, grabbing something and holding it up triumphantly for him to see.

It was a pistol. It had to be hers, he decided, since she dropped it into her own holster, and secured it with the same ease of familiarity she'd used with her knife.

"They must've found some of the weapons we lost! Quick, John, search them before the others come back for the bodies! Ape men eat their dead," she added as an afterthought, remembering that John wouldn't know that pertinent fact now that he'd lost his memory.

He nodded and joined her in the quick search.

They found another pistol, one of John's set of pearl-handled Webleys, but nothing else. He checked the chambers with practiced ease. Empty. "Do we have ammo?" he asked.

"We do if we find your backpack. Come on, let's get moving again. We're on the right track!" she laughed up at him. Still riding the combined high of their victory and finding the guns, she stepped out with a bounce in her step. "We must be close now to where we tried to cross the river. Come on!"

He cast one more incredulous look back at the creatures sprawled on the ground, shook his head in bemusement, and followed her. If she had told the truth about ape men, then maybe the rest was true, too. Dinosaurs?! Plants that ate people?! _Space men_?? It couldn't all be true - could it?

She certainly believed it, he knew that for sure now. And based on that, he could only conclude… reluctantly… that she really was telling the truth. He uneasily eyed the jungle around them as he followed her, and remembered again the sight of this woman in the heat of the battle with the creatures.

Where in the world had a lady like Marguerite learned to fight like that?!

Ahead of him, her adrenaline rush was fading and Marguerite was dealing with the disappointment of realizing that Roxton's memory hadn't been restored by the fight with the ape men. This was not good. She needed him to get his memory back so they could find his backpack. It was imperative that they recover that sacred stone! There was precious little time, especially if Marguerite had to find the way home from here without his help.

She had very little confidence in her skill at navigating through the jungle. She'd certainly listened to enough lectures from both John and Veronica about survival, she reminded herself. But she'd never had to bet the lives of others on whether she could really do it. John or Veronica had always been there to keep the path true.

With Veronica at the tree house and John's memory gone . . . Marguerite didn't think the odds were looking particularly good.

* * *

Ned bounded past Veronica as he spotted the dull gray of the rifle barrel. Jammed into the rocks at the bend of the river, it was difficult to work loose. Veronica and Challenger searched the river's boulder-tumbled banks as he worked at freeing Roxton's favorite hunting rifle without damaging the stock. By the time he'd successfully retrieved the weapon, the other two had located the rifle Marguerite had been carrying, and Marguerite's water-logged backpack, too, still fastened shut.

It was mid-morning, and the heat was staggeringly oppressive.

Each of them took the opportunity to splash water on their faces, arms and necks, trying to cool off a little. Veronica, of course, fared the best. With her scant clothing, she rarely suffered from the heat as badly as her friends, having adopted the clothing style more common on the plateau when she was still a child. She knew that Ned and Challenger were going to need more frequent breaks as the sun rose higher in the sky, and that without his hat Challenger wouldn't be able to endure the powerful tropical summer sun. Ned never bothered with a hat, but even with his extra tolerance levels and three years here, he wasn't as acclimated to the plateau as Veronica was after living her whole life here.

Ordinarily, she would've said that Lord John Roxton was perfectly capable of seeing to it that he and Marguerite took the necessary steps to avoid sun poisoning or sunstroke. But in Ned's vision, they'd been unconscious on a riverbank. If they were exposed to the sun's rays for too long, or went without drinking sufficient water to keep their bodies hydrated, she didn't want to think about the danger they were going to be in.

"They can't be further downstream," Veronica said thoughtfully, looking that way. "The current isn't strong enough from here on to have thrown them up on a curved bank like this one. So they must have been washed ashore upstream from here. We'd better follow the river as closely as we can."

The two men nodded, shouldered the extra weapons, and fell in behind the blonde huntress once again as she climbed to slightly higher ground to avoid most of the irregularly-sized boulders that peppered the river bank here. She was considerately choosing a more shaded route as well, both men noticed with gratitude. It was much cooler under the trees. There was even a bit of a breeze.

Hopefully it was refreshing Roxton and Marguerite as well.

* * *

"You always tell me to stay in the shade and drink plenty of water," she said firmly to him as she detoured toward the stream for the third time since they'd started uphill. "Since we haven't found the canteens, we have to go to where the water is, John," she explained patiently. "We'll go right back, I promise." She shifted her hat on her head, glad they'd found their hats floating in that quiet shallow pool right before they'd started away from the river. It was amazing luck that their hats hadn't been washed away or taken by the ape men.

But having the hats to shield their faces from the powerful sunshine wasn't enough in this heat. They had to have water to replace what they were sweating away, and to keep their bodies cool. Both John and Veronica had drilled that into the others time and time again since they'd been stranded here on the plateau, and Marguerite wasn't going to ignore it now. Too much depended on them getting back alive.

John disapproved of moving away yet again from the clear trail they were following up the hillside. They'd followed a path of crushed grass and broken plant stems they'd found, leading uphill from the riverbank where they'd been swept off their feet by the current. It could only be the path made by the two of them, earlier, while running downhill toward the river. It should lead back to the deadfall where they'd made their last stand, and he thought they should stay on it.

John had questioned her about her sense of urgency to find the sacred stone, and when she more fully explained the situation, he'd begun to understand the purpose of the trek into the mountains, and the need to return on time. Now grasping her concern, he had joined in with her commitment to find it as quickly as possible, and each delay bothered him.

The only place Marguerite could think of to look for the missing backpack, other than along their actual trail, was at the deadfall. She told the tall hunter that he'd never have been careless enough to have simply misplaced that backpack. Possession of the backpack's contents meant the difference between life and death, even without the stone being in it. He had to have left it someplace specific, for some specific reason, Marguerite insisted.

Perhaps he'd anticipated being overrun by the ape men, and had hidden it to prevent it from being taken or damaged, she'd theorized. The thing she dreaded most was the possibility that one of the ape men had snagged it during one of their fights, and they just hadn't noticed.

But she was almost one hundred percent positive that John would've noticed such a thing and not let it happen. John was too aware of his surroundings to not notice the loss of his backpack, even if they were in full flight from a T-rex! So he must've deliberately left it somewhere he thought it would be safer than with them. He would've placed it for quick retrieval once danger was past.

When she'd explained all this to him, he had given her a long thoughtful look, then said, "You seem to have quite a lot of confidence in me."

She'd flushed a little, but had answered honestly, "I have plenty of reasons to place a great deal of confidence in you, Lord Roxton."

Now, as they reached the small stream and knelt to drink the cool fresh water from cupped hands, he gave her another sidelong look. "Tell me something about yourself," he suggested casually.

She cast him a startled look, and that lovely pink flush spread across her creamy skin again. She quickly focused on scooping up more water to drink. Then she took a moment more to lave water along her arms, onto her face, and along the back of her neck. "About me? I don't see how that will help you regain your memory," she finally said, combing her fingers through her hair to try to lessen the tangles.

John had followed her example of using the water to cool his overheated skin. Then he sat back on his heels and watched as she proceeded to re-braid her long dark tresses. Just when she thought he was going to let the matter drop, he said, "I think if we've been friends for three years, talking about you might be just as good a way to trigger my memory as talking about this plateau." The quick look she gave him was clearly uneasy. Why was she hesitating?

Finally she rose to her feet and said, "We'd best get back to the trail."

He nodded, and followed her.

She purposely stayed a half step ahead of him, and after a few minutes she asked quietly, "What do you want to know?"

They found their earlier trail again and turned uphill as he answered, "Well, for starters, what did you come along on this expedition for? Why did you want to make such a dangerous trip?"

She rolled her eyes, and chuckled wryly.

"What?"

"You may have lost your memory, Roxton, but you're still the same man!" she said lightly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because almost the first question you ever asked me had to do with why I wanted to come along on Challenger's expedition," she replied. "Trust me, now is not the time to go into explanations."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"I know," she sighed. "Just ask me something else, okay?"

John nodded slowly. "All right. You said you funded the expedition. I would have thought your family would object, or try to prevent you from using your income on such a questionable project."

"Is there a question in there somewhere?" she teased, stalling.

"Yes. Come on, Marguerite, it's a perfectly reasonable question. You haven't mentioned any relatives coming along, or indeed, anyone from your family at all. I can't imagine letting a woman in my family head off into the unknown for an undetermined time period with four non-related men, not without a chaperone." Roxton said with conviction.

Marguerite admitted quietly, "That might be a valid concern, if I had family." The way her mouth pinched at the corners and her eyes went darker green, told him that this was a sore spot.

John winced. "I beg your pardon," he apologized promptly and sincerely, moving forward more quickly so he could come even with her and look into her face. "I'm an inconsiderate fool."

His contrite words and concerned gaze made her smile. She reached over and slipped her hand into his without thinking about it. "That's okay, John. It's not your fault."

John blinked, and his step faltered.

Marguerite stopped, and turned to him in concern. "John?"

His darkened eyes were unfocused, puzzled, as if seeing something far away. His fingers tightened around hers, and his brow creased. Her words, and the feel of her hand in his, made something tingle at the edge of his consciousness.

"John?"

He looked down into her troubled eyes and frowned thoughtfully. "You've said that to me before," he said slowly, starting to walk again without conscious thought.

Marguerite moved with him, keeping one eye on the trail and the other anxiously on the tall hunter. She had indeed said those words to him before, often. Especially during times when he was struggling with memories about his brother's death. She hadn't told him, earlier today, about having shot his own brother, leaving that out of the details she'd given him about his life while attempting to spur his memory to life. "Do you remember something?"

Slowly he shook his head. "Just a - a - feeling, I guess. Kind of a shadow I can't quite get hold of. But," he turned to give her a crooked grin. "That's better than nothing, isn't it?"

"It's progress," she agreed with deliberate cheerfulness. She wished there were a way to help him get back all his memories except the ones of accidentally shooting his brother in the process of killing a great ape to save William's life.

"So keep talking to me," he urged, noticing that she was still holding his hand quite naturally. His suspicion must be correct; at least in some degree, he and this woman had some kind of personal relationship beyond mere friendship. "Tell me how you learned so many languages."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "You really do ask the tough ones. I don't have an answer for that, either. I just . . . know them."

He raised his brows, asking silently for more information.

She shrugged. "I've always had a knack for languages. I see them, or hear them, and," she gestured with her free hand, "I know them. I've come across a couple that I have to spend some time studying, particularly ancient written languages, but I've never found a language I can't understand and master."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly as he sensed the uneasiness about this 'gift' that lay beneath her casual tone. "Sounds like you fit right in on this amazing plateau, with all of the other lovely, exotic and marvelous things," he teased lightly.

She glanced up and met his eyes, taking his words more seriously than he'd intended. "Actually, as much as I miss some things about London, Paris, the restaurants and - well, just _things_ - I do feel like I belong, and fit in, more here on the plateau than I ever felt outside. I think you like it here, too." Her delightful wide smile flashed again. "You seem to thrive on all the adventure."

"Maybe it's the company I thrive on," he couldn't resist saying, letting his warm green eyes show her his appreciation for her beauty.

Her face lit with laughter at his sudden playful attitude, and she grinned up at him. "Lord Roxton, you really are an incorrigible flirt!" she reproved, then looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "Still," her voice dropped into to a sultry purr. "It's too bad we're in such a hurry."

She was flirting back! John grinned boyishly. "I could be persuaded to take a break. Maybe we should find some shade and wait out the heat of the day," he proposed with a cocked eyebrow.

He wasn't to find out whether she would have agreed or not. Their game was interrupted by another attack from the ape men.

Both of them were taken off guard - he'd better not let himself get so distracted from the dangers again, he grimly made a mental note to himself. They very nearly lost this battle before it began. The large simians emerged from a stand of trees the pair were passing by, and bore Roxton to the ground in their initial rush, virtually ignoring Marguerite at first.

The savages' mistake was in not initially taking Marguerite out instead of going after him, he decided as she flung herself into the pile on top of him with a piercing yell, her knife flashing in the dappled sunlight beneath the jungle canopy.

Her unexpected leap into the fray, and the slashing of her blade, caused three of the ape men to turn to deal with her. Their attempt to untangle themselves from the melee on Roxton in order to respond to the unforeseen threat from Marguerite distracted and hindered the others. Combined with Marguerite's attack, this enabled the hunter to surge upwards with a burst of strength that broke the tenuous hold remaining against him. By the time they realized he was loose, he had his blade drawn, too, and was doing more damage than Marguerite.

Their advantage gone, the ape men vanished back into the jungle again, leaving three more dead behind them.

Marguerite caught hold of his arms, searching his body for signs of injury. "I thought they had you!" she exclaimed in fear, her wide eyes filling with tears as she assured herself that he was unharmed. "I thought -" her voice broke, and she buried her face against his shoulder and clung tightly to him, her arms wrapping around him as she wept.

John hugged her with one arm, keeping his knife ready in the other hand, and watching the jungle where the ape men had disappeared. "Shh. I'm all right, Marguerite. We're both all right. It's okay," he soothed.

She fought for control of her emotions as valiantly as she'd fought the ape men, he decided as he offered her what comfort he could. It wasn't long before she was able to step back, wiping the last of her tears away with the back of her hand.

He didn't tell her that it left a streak of damp dirt across her cheek. It was kind of cute. Besides, the very first thing he'd learned about her after waking up on that riverbank was that she didn't like to be dirty. And since there was no water nearby for her to wash up with, it was better not to mention the dirt streak on her lovely face . . . or the remains of the river mud still clinging to her hair and clothes, either.

She drew in a ragged breath and managed a small smile up at him. "This is what happens all the time!" she said to him with a resigned wave at the bodies scattered around them. She meant that every time they were close to a romantic moment they were interrupted by something.

But John sucked in his breath. "We have these continuous battles with these creatures every day?!" he gaped at her. "I thought the dinosaurs would be the main problem!"

She started to correct him, then decided it would take too long to explain. Best to leave that can of worms carefully capped. She sniffed once more, then determinedly straightened her shoulders. "We have to find that bloody backpack! I want to load my gun!"

He nodded, and they turned together back uphill and resumed the search.

* * *

"This is it!" Ned pointed at the grassy bank they'd just come upon.

It took only a cursory examination for Veronica to agree that this was indeed where Roxton and Marguerite had been washed ashore. She was able to read the sign easily on the damp ground with its still-crushed grass showing the movements of the pair. "They don't seem to be hurt; they both got to their feet, and they headed back upriver. Now why would they do that? Roxton knows he has to go down river to get to the Zanga village."

Puzzled, and having no answers, they had no choice but to follow the trail the couple were leaving. The sign along the route bothered Veronica, too. "He's not even trying to keep his trail to a minimum," she worried. "Something isn't right, here. Look how they're moving."

It wasn't really something she could describe, but the trail just didn't seem to fit in with Lord Roxton's usual crisp, canny movements in the wild. She was extremely troubled by the way their footprints wandered along the river instead of cutting to an easier, shorter path further from the river bank. John wasn't seeking out a quick route back to wherever he was heading, or looking to stay in the shade either. This behavior just wasn't like the wise, experienced hunter.

George Challenger nodded. "It's as if they're looking for something."

A sudden thought occurred to all three of them, and they exchanged dismayed looks. Ned put it into words. "You don't suppose they lost the sacred stone, do you?"

"They couldn't have!" Veronica whispered, envisioning the disaster if that stone wasn't produced on time.

"What else could it be? We found their rifles and one of Roxton's guns. Obviously the river's current was powerful enough to rip the weapons away from them. Maybe it took the stone, too."

"Then why would they go upstream?" Veronica disputed. "The current would've taken it down stream. Roxton would know that."

It was a question they debated as they continued to follow the tracks, moving much faster than John and Marguerite, and the pair's trail was quite obvious. When they found the scene of the riverside battle with the ape men, they had some tense moments, until Veronica found their continued footprints leading away from the trampled site. "It's okay. They walked away. There isn't any sign of limping, and there's no blood trail. Looks like they managed to fight them off," she deciphered the trail in relief. "They're still heading up stream, though."

It didn't take too long to reach the point where the two had tried to cross the water, and to find the trail that led back up the hillside. "They must've lost the stone or left it behind, and now they're trying to retrieve it," Challenger declared in dismay. "It's the only theory that explains what they're doing."

Veronica was now feeling the effects of the long hike on her injured leg. The uphill climb was slowing her down, and it was obvious to the two men that she was going to aggravate her injuries if she kept on the way she was going.

Ned finally insisted that she take it easier. "Let me go ahead, Veronica. This isn't a hard trail to follow. I won't lose them," he grinned, taking her arm and making her wait for Challenger. "You stay with George. Come on, if you keep pushing yourself, you'll do serious damage, and we might need you before this is over. You have to take care of yourself," he coaxed gently.

That was logic she couldn't argue with. She was still worried about the fact that John wasn't covering his trail even though he knew he was back in ape man territory. If there was something wrong with John Roxton, the group would need Veronica's expertise to guide them all home. She couldn't put the others at risk by neglecting to heed her own pain.

She let Challenger find her a good sturdy branch to use as a cane, while Ned went on ahead of them. He was right about one thing; there was no way that he could miss the trail.

A little further up the hill, just out of their sight, Ned was relieved to be able to call back to Veronica, "John must be okay! They've been to the stream, then came back to their trail."

That eased everyone's worry. Marguerite's canteen had been with her backpack, so the trio had realized that the others must be sharing Roxton's canteen. That meant their water supply would be low at a time when both of them needed plenty of liquids. Although they hadn't voiced their concern to one another, they'd each been aware of it.

Now at least they could be sure Roxton and Marguerite weren't going to be dehydrated.

"Marguerite probably stopped for another bath," Veronica joked to Challenger, feeling much better now that the worry over this detail was resolved. Good old Roxton! She should've guessed he'd be staying close to water to ensure that he and Marguerite would be able to drink frequently.

Challenger kept pace with Veronica, and Ned was careful to remain within calling distance of the other two. With bands of ape men evidently still wandering in this area, they couldn't afford to get too far apart. He faithfully reported the other two times the couple had left the path to get drinks from the stream, knowing every added detail would help alleviate Veronica's worry. And there was also the happy thought that every time the pair went to the stream it was cutting down time until the others could catch up, since they didn't need to go to the stream themselves but could keep right on.

Ned stopped and waited for Challenger and Veronica when he found the site of the next battle, careful not to tread on any of the sign that had been left.

Veronica studied it carefully. "This was less than an hour ago," she decided. "It looks like the ape men jumped on Roxton, and Marguerite jumped on them," she grinned.

"Uh-oh," Challenger grinned, as cheered as the young blonde to know they were getting so much closer, "Never mess with Marguerite's man!"

That made the younger couple laugh.

The trio continued on, much more relaxed. They should catch up soon, now, and then they could all head back together.

* * *

"It's not here, Marguerite," John said firmly, giving up the obviously hopeless search, dragging his sleeve along his dripping brow. "And we have to rest. This heat will kill us if we don't rest."

She straightened up from checking under a group of branches in the deadfall, and turned to face him with a sigh. "You're right, John." She sat down heavily on a fallen tree trunk. "I don't understand it. We followed the river back, and then stayed close to our other trail. It should've been along here somewhere. I know you had the backpack when we were here, because I took ammo out of it to reload my pistol during the fight. You had it on your back, just like usual."

She was talking to herself as much as to him, he realized. John sat down beside her, and draped one arm over her shoulders. "Okay. Let's walk it through one more time. Tell me everything again, step by step," he suggested patiently. Her face was pale, despite the fact that she was fairly glistening with perspiration from their exertions in the torrid tropic heat. He wished they were closer to that stream right now. Marguerite and he both needed another drink.

She leaned wearily against him and nodded with a resigned grimace. "All right. We were on the path to the connecting route . . ."

She was still talking, interrupted by his occasional questions, when John suddenly tensed and instinctively drew the lone Webley from its shoulder holster, aiming toward their back trail. He held it steady, even though he'd belatedly remembered that it was without ammo. Whoever was coming wouldn't know that, and he might be able to bluff them.

"Easy, old boy," said an amused male voice. "Never shoot your friends."

"_Ned_!" Marguerite shrieked in delight, jumping up from the log to greet the young, blond-haired man who appeared. "Ned, what are you doing here? Where did you come from? Where are the others?"

John noticed her eyes had once again changed to that bright sapphire blue at the sight of the handsome young man. He watched the fellow carefully.

"They're not far behind me. I had a vision last night, and it looked like you were in trouble, so we came to help you guys." He hugged Marguerite and grinned at Roxton. "It's sure good to see you alive and well. You didn't look so good in my vision."

John was inexplicably relieved that this Ned fellow didn't let his embrace linger too long. Instead, he pulled out his canteen and handed it to the over-heated beauty, then left Marguerite's side and moved toward John with an outstretched hand of greeting.

John studied the younger man with interest. Marguerite had told him about the lad, and he could see by the open friendliness Ned exhibited toward both of them that she hadn't exaggerated their closeness. There was respect and affection in Ned's honest blue eyes as he greeted them both. John was disposed to like the lad already.

Especially when Ned drew another Webley from his waistband and passed it to Roxton; it was the mate to the one the couple had taken back from the ape men after their riverside battle. Better still, this one was loaded! "You have ammunition!" the tall hunter beamed. "Good! We need to reload."

"Yeah, this one was empty when we spotted it, so we thought you might be low on ammunition," Ned agreed, digging fresh ammo from his backpack and extending a handful to Roxton. "Glad to see you have its twin. We searched all over when we found the Webley, but finally gave up, just hoping against hope that you still had the second one." He gave Marguerite a handful of bullets in exchange for the canteen, and passed the canteen to Roxton next. Where were Roxton's pack and canteen, he wondered.

"Where did you find the pistol?" Marguerite asked curiously, refreshed after the long slow sips she had taken from Ned's canteen, and watching Roxton closely as she now reloaded her own pistol. She didn't see any sign of recognition in his handsome face, just polite, interested observation as he watched Ned over the lip of the canteen while he drank deeply.

"Well, it was completely accidental, actually. Challenger felt the call of nature, ducked into some handy bushes, and there it was, half hidden beneath some leaves. Veronica found sign of ape men near by. We figure that they couldn't eat it or wear it, so they just tossed it in the bushes," Ned grinned. "So what brought you two all the way back here? It's the opposite direction from home, you know," he pointed out lightly, his eyes studying them curiously.

Marguerite had been dreading that question from the moment she had heard Ned's voice. "Let's wait till Challenger and Veronica catch up. I'd rather only have to tell this once."

Ned nodded, his journalist's eye gathering information all the while. He could see that the couple had been searching for something, overturning branches and piles of leaves, and climbing all over the deadfall. It looked like their worst fears might be right. Clearly, the pair had lost something valuable, to have come all the way back here to search for it. Veronica wasn't going to be happy about this.

But Ned didn't comment on it for now. He answered Marguerite's implied question instead. "They won't be long. Veronica is beginning to feel the effects of the hike. Did you have any trouble convincing the caretakers to let you have the sacred stone?"

"No." Marguerite tucked her now-loaded pistol back into its holster. "We had no trouble following Veronica's directions to the Me'hab territory. And as soon as I started speaking their language, they decided we'd come from the gods and were glad to relinquish it into our care."

"That's good," Veronica smiled as she and Challenger walked into view. She looked a little tired, but her eyes brightened at the sight of both Roxton and Marguerite being on their feet and uninjured. "It's good to see you two. You had us worried, all these run-ins with the ape men."

John blinked, staring at the youngest member of the group. Wow! She really did wear very little! He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

Marguerite noticed his slack jaw and mesmerized gaze, and smothered a grin. She'd forgotten what a strong first impression Veronica had made on the men of the Challenger Expedition when they'd first met her on the plateau. Her animal skin halter top and loin-cloth-style skirt revealed quite a lot of her golden-tanned, voluptuously curved body, and John hadn't been prepared for the effect.

The others noticed his expression, too, and Marguerite was further amused by their reactions. Ned's blue eyes narrowed at the older man suspiciously. Veronica frowned at John, reddening a little, and stepped closer to Ned. George considered the younger man with a questioning frown that turned speculative, then became understanding as he grasped the only possible reason for John's reaction to Veronica. The men had long ago grown accustomed enough to her garb not to respond like this now.

"He has amnesia," George Challenger said simply, his words drawing the eyes of the younger couple instantly. They looked at the scientist, then back at John in dawning realization, then over to Marguerite for confirmation of what George had surmised. It would explain so much!

She nodded. "Yes, he does. He has a big bump on his forehead, George. He can't remember who he is, or where we are. I'm really glad you're all here," the heiress admitted in relief. "I wasn't sure I could get us home." Finally, things were out of her hands! Veronica was here! She could get them safely home.

Veronica met the older woman's eyes with a sudden gleam of understanding. Ah! This was why John's trail had seemed so unlike him! It was Marguerite in the lead, trying to implement the things she'd been taught by John over the last three years! The jungle beauty bestowed a warm smile on the brunette. "You were doing just fine, Marguerite," she praised, knowing the stress of being responsible for another person's safety.

Marguerite searched her friend's open countenance. "Really?"

"Yes, really. You stayed by water and followed a known landmark until you could find your trail again, and then backtracked. You made sure you drank plenty of water, too, and, if I was reading the sign right, you've kept John alive as well, through a number of encounters with the local inhabitants," Veronica generously elaborated to reassure Marguerite of her approval.

After all, what had been questionable in John Roxton's behavior was quite understandable in a relative novice. It really was impressive, looking back on it now with Marguerite in mind instead of the experienced hunter, how much the dark-haired woman had actually remembered and used. This was especially true since Veronica and Roxton often despaired that their obstinate, oft-inattentive friend hadn't heard a word of what they'd tried to teach her about surviving on the plateau.

Marguerite's lovely face glowed with pleasure. Veronica thought she'd done well!

Challenger absently handed Marguerite the backpack they'd found along the river as they searched for their missing companions, and moved directly to John to examine the bump on his temple carefully. Marguerite was delighted to see her backpack, and quickly checked to make sure her things were still intact. But she kept one eye on George and John.

John good-naturedly allowed the prodding, since Marguerite had told him the scientist had become the group's resident healer after Summerlee had gone over the falls. He studied the face of the lanky red-headed man with interest, finding it full of character and intelligence.

He could see how Marguerite would speak of this man with such respect. The man was slightly taller than Roxton himself, and had a bearing that exuded authority and knowledge. George Challenger's eyes were fascinating, quite intense in their focus, and John could almost see the mental wheels turning behind those pale blue orbs. He could easily imagine Challenger in a lab, surrounded by test tubes and experiments.

John's brow suddenly creased. Now that was a funny image! He turned to Marguerite. "Did you tell me that Challenger runs through the tree house with bubbling experiments in his hands yelling 'make way, make way' before tossing the stuff off a balcony right before it explodes?"

Marguerite tensed at his description of the frequent tree house occurrence and shook her head, eyes widening in anticipation again. "No, John, I didn't!" she exclaimed. "You must've just remembered it! Do you remember anything else?"

He frowned in concentration, then shook his head in disappointment. "No." He turned curiously back to the older man. "Do you really do that?" he asked. "Run through the tree house with exploding experiments, I mean?"

The scientist nodded ruefully. "I really should put a window in that lab. It's not safe."

Veronica rolled her eyes, and Ned and Marguerite exchanged grins. John had the distinct feeling they had heard these words many times before.

"However, that's a very good sign, John! I'm sure the rest of your memory will come back with time," the eldest of the party said enthusiastically. Then his smile faded, and he looked at Marguerite. "I don't understand why you came all the way back here. What else is wrong?" he asked, although he was positive he already knew the answer. He, too, had noticed that John's pack was nowhere in evidence.

Marguerite grimaced, glanced at John, and admitted, "We lost John's backpack. He had the Bu'tah sacred stone in it." She squared her slender shoulders, meeting their friends' dismayed reactions and preparing herself to answer the next round of questions from her companions.

Carefully, succinctly, she explained again her reasoning about what John might have done with it, why she was sure he'd had it when they had been at this deadfall, and why she was equally sure that it had been gone by the time she'd been slammed into him after they were washed off their feet by the river currents. "It must be somewhere between the river and here, but I'm out of ideas for how to find it."

John noticed that none of the others questioned that he wouldn't have lost sight of the backpack, any more than the dark-haired woman had. They all seemed just as sure of his ability and trustworthiness as Marguerite was. He was impressed with the obvious closeness of this group of people, and even without his memory he was pretty sure this was unusual for a group of unrelated people. They were interacting more like family than friends, he decided as he watched Ned give Marguerite a reassuring brotherly hug.

He also noticed that none of them seemed to find anything odd in any of the adventures of this amazing day, but reacted as if this kind of situation were almost common for them.

He listened to them discuss possibilities for how to find the missing pack, his eyes drawn continually back to the brunette. The blonde was eye-catching, it was true, but there was just something about the other lady that intrigued him to the exclusion of the others. Something about Marguerite had changed since the others had found them. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

There wasn't much John could offer to the discussion, so he kept watch as he listened to these remarkable friends he was getting reacquainted with in this odd lost world. They finally decided to try re-enacting the day's events, to see if that prompted any of John's memories or led to finding the pack. Marguerite narrated the events once again, and they set out as a group to walk through it all, spreading out slightly to cover more ground and look under bushes and along the path John and Marguerite had followed that first time.

As they retraced their steps, they took turns narrating to John some of the different adventures they'd each experienced with him, hoping something would bring his memories to life again. But although there was a comfortable, general familiarity with them all, none of the stories provoked any memory of himself. Their choices of stories to relate, however, kept him quite diverted from worrying about his missing memory and the missing sacred artifact.

Veronica told him about the time the two of them had been out with Arthur Summerlee and stumbled into a t-Rex nest. He could sense her affection for the old man they'd worked so hard to save when the mama T-Rex had latched onto Summerlee's scent and hunted him. And he was amused at the various tactics the hunter and huntress had attempted to throw the massive beast off the trail so they could safely go home. But even her vivid description of disguising a melon in Summerlee's hat to give the dinosaur a scarecrow-Summerlee to "kill" did not conjure any further memory flashes.

Ned contributed a tale about the time Roxton had been "drafted" for kingship by a horse - a _horse_?! - and how the group had ultimately worked together to defeat an unconquerable dragon with Challenger's "magic" - a time when it really had been just smoke and mirrors that mattered, Ned joked. Then he had to explain how they'd done it. John was suitably impressed, but still unable to recall any of it.

Challenger chimed in next, recounting the time they'd met up with visitors stranded on the plateau from another planet! He'd already heard this one from Marguerite, but it was interesting to hear it from another point of view.

As they proceeded toward the river, John noticed that Marguerite was getting quieter, not joining in with the others as they continued their story telling. Her changeable eyes were a dark green now, he noticed, and he didn't like the sadness he detected in their depths. She was still staying closer to him than to any of the others, though the necessity of the search pattern meant they weren't close enough to be holding hands any longer. He wondered what was going through her mind, to cause her to subtly withdraw like this.

John's attention was reclaimed by Ned. The younger man was recounting an encounter the three men had with a group of Amazons, and how Veronica and Marguerite had to come and rescue them from a cruel fate. Ned's blue eyes danced as he described the destiny the Amazons had in mind for them. His words painted a pretty vivid picture of the battle Veronica and Marguerite had fought on their behalf. John found himself grinning widely as Ned wryly reported how Veronica had saved him from the attentions of the two Amazons who had decided Ned was their favorite.

"Where was I?" he asked, intrigued.

"You were playing some pretty aggressive games yourself," Marguerite drawled dryly, "Though you told me you were just -"

The simian creatures burst from the bushes around them, charging at the spread-out explorers with shouts and upraised clubs. "Form on Challenger!" John yelled, swinging his rifle up and firing instinctively. The ape man nearest to Marguerite fell in mid-step.

The others obeyed John's command without question, backing toward George's position in the center of their search line as they raised and fired their own weapons, covering one another. John marveled at how calmly they all reacted, even himself, as they fought back the attack. The whole thing had a dreamlike feeling to him. As if . . . as if they had done it all before. Even as the adrenaline pumped through his veins and he continued to fire as fast as he could lever the bolt on the rifle, he felt as if he was watching it all happening in slow motion, as if he were standing apart from the smoke and noise and danger.

Then it was over.

The remnant of the attacking band of simian-like men melted away into the jungle again, leaving behind at least a dozen dead.

"Reload," John barked, crisply, automatically, and then wondered where in the world he'd gained such experience that even without his memory he'd instinctively taken command and given orders for things he couldn't even recall.

Marguerite was obeying, reloading, but as her hands smoothly handled the familiar process her eyes were on him, questioning, hopeful. Her gaze fell when he silently shook his head. He knew she'd been hoping his confident handling of this attack meant his memory had returned.

Oddly, he was sorrier that he'd disappointed her than that he still didn't remember anything about himself.

As soon as his own weapon was reloaded, Challenger nodded. "Right. Let's keep going. Spread out again. But be careful," he warned with a grin. "Stay alert."

"Hey, John, remember the prince from El Dorado?" Veronica sent a mischievous grin over her shoulder as she moved toward her former position in the search line. "The one who turned out to be a half-breed giant, and Marguerite seduced him?"

John quirked a brow at the dark haired beauty. "You seduced a giant? You didn't tell me about that one," he said with a grin, starting to move forward again, toward the river.

She flashed him a cheeky grin. "Oh, it was nothing," she replied airily. "He was no different than any other man."

John stumbled, and hesitated.

She was instantly at his side. "John? Are you alright?"

He nodded slowly. "Big, black fellow, taller than the trees?"

Her eyes widened in excitement. "Yes, John!"

"Just for a second there - just for a second! - I saw him. But . . ." he scowled, frustrated.

Marguerite patted his arm, pushing aside her own disappointment. "It's okay, John. It will come back. You're going to be fine," she promised him, summoning a smile for his sake.

"Hey, you two! Come on!" Ned called from his position of the far end of their search line.

They moved apart, rejoining the others in the search for John's pack. But they reached the river again, with still no sign of the missing backpack. They stood on the shady bank of the river, and exchanged helpless looks.

John moved over to Marguerite. "Maybe you should knock me over the head," he suggested.

Amused, she grinned, "Not today, John."

"No, really," he insisted. "Maybe another knock on the noggin would bring my memory back."

Her smile faded as she searched his sober eyes. "You can't be serious."

"I'm serious."

"He could be right," Challenger said thoughtfully. "It is not unknown for an amnesia victim to regain his right mind after suffering a second blow to the head."

Marguerite spun on him, her eyes flashing in irritation. "No one is going to hit John!" she snapped, upset that the scientist would even consider it.

Veronica chuckled. "You've done it before, Marguerite," she pointed out mischievously.

Roxton looked down at her with one brow raised. "You didn't tell me that one, either, my dear," he grinned, noting that her incredible eyes were once again storm-cloud gray as she glared from Challenger to Veronica. His words brought her marvelous gaze back to his face. "Keeping secrets, are we?" he reproved in mock sternness. "Friends shouldn't keep secrets."

He'd meant to make her smile, but instead he saw a flash of pain in her expressive face. He reached out an apologetic hand to her, unsure exactly what had upset her. "Marguerite?"

She looked away from him, refusing to take his hand. "I'm hungry. Anyone else ready for some lunch?" she asked brightly. "I'll get some firewood. Coming, Veronica?"

The others quickly responded to her change of topic, agreeing that it was time for lunch. Veronica hastily followed the slender brunette who was already striding off into the brush. Ned and Challenger gave John sympathetic looks. Ned started unpacking the food they had brought along, while the older man moved to John's side.

George patted his shoulder. "She'll be okay, John," he assured the confused man. "That was just a poor choice of words."

"Why?" he asked, bewildered.

"Marguerite has more secrets than you could imagine," the leader of the expedition explained. "It's taken us all a long time to learn who she really is, and we're not entirely sure we know the truth even now, after three years. She's had a very difficult time learning to trust us. We're pretty sure there are still things she doesn't want us to know about her past. It's one of the things that holds back the relationship the two of you are developing."

"So there is something between us?" the handsome hunter met his friend's keen blue eyes, searching for the truth.

"Oh, yes, definitely. Marguerite isn't precisely comfortable with it, but you're a pretty persistent fellow," George grinned. "And you've been wearing down her resistance."

John looked after the two women a bit wistfully. "She's very special."

"Indeed she is. Marguerite is very bright, though she doesn't admit to it. She's been invaluable to the expedition, and in my work in the lab. And her gift with languages has been a real God-send."

"She told me about the languages. And that she hasn't any family. She's an amazing fighter," he looked back to the tall red-headed scientist's alert blue eyes. "She's got a little bit of a temper, hasn't she?"

He was startled when both Ned and George burst into laughter. "What? What did I say?"

* * *

Marguerite heard his quiet footsteps, but didn't look around. He sat down beside her on the boulder, shoulder touching hers. They sat there silently for a few minutes.

She'd barely said two words to him all through lunch, then had wandered off aimlessly as the other four went back to discussing what course of action to try now. John hadn't been able to focus on the conversation. His eyes were continually drawn to where "the mysterious Miss Krux", as Ned had called her when the two men had finally controlled their laughter and filled John in on a bit of history about Marguerite, had settled on a rock by the river. She was within view of the group's lunch site along the river, but her posture showed she was much further away than that.

He finally decided that he'd have to be the one to speak first. "Ned says you're the toughest one of the group," he said lightly, turning his face to watch her profile. "But I don't think so."

"No? Who do you think is the toughest one?" she asked without meeting his eyes.

"Summerlee."

That got her to look at him, swinging to face him with incredulous surprise. "Summerlee? Don't be ridiculous! He was a teddy bear!"

"Okay, Ned, then," John said with a straight face, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

A smile tugged at her lips as she realized he was teasing. "Right," she scoffed. "Our Neddy-boy is tough as nails!" What game was he playing at now?

His light hazel-green eyes twinkled at her, daring her to laugh. "Well, then it must be Challenger."

"Yeah," she retorted, "Our resident genius can really be a killer when he starts in on one of his long explanations about one of his theories." Her eyes, blue-green at the moment, danced with mirth.

"Veronica, then."

She pursed her lips, and admitted, "Now, she's a possibility. But she has a weakness for babies, the helpless, and Ned. Actually, that was redundant."

He gave a crack of laughter at that, then suggested, "Me?"

She shook her head, and jeered, "You, tough? Not a chance. You're the most soft-hearted man I've ever known. Pig-headed, of course, but soft-hearted."

"That brings us back to you," he pointed out. "And I don't believe that."

"You don't know me." Some of the twinkle in her eyes faded, and there was soberness behind her light words as she continued, "For all you know, I could've been responsible for the death of thousands!"

John took her hand casually, absently smoothing the soft skin. "Is that what this is all about, Marguerite? Are you feeling responsible for losing the backpack and the Bu'tah artifact? Are you worried about what'll happen to the Zanga if we don't find it?"

She sucked in her breath sharply, staring at him in amazement. "How do you do that?!" she breathed with a look of bemused wonder at the handsome Lord.

"Do what?"

"Always seem to know -" she broke off, then heaved a tremulous sigh, head bowing. Hesitantly, she whispered, "John, I don't want any more deaths on my conscience."

He slid his arm about her shoulders and hugged her. "We're going to find it, Marguerite," he promised. "And we'll get back there in time to prevent the war. You'll see."

She let herself rest in his reassuring embrace, but shook her head. "We've looked everywhere. It's gone, John. It's gone." Her voice was full of dread. "There's going to be a war. It's our fault."

He tucked his fingers beneath her chin, and forced her face up so she'd have to meet his eyes. "Marguerite, we're going to find it. Trust me. Do you trust me?"

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she searched his face. "Yes, John," she whispered, swallowing hard. "I trust you." He lowered his head to hers.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt, but Challenger has an idea."

They jerked apart, startled to find Ned standing before them. The younger man was grinning sheepishly. John realized in disgust they had lost yet another romantic opportunity. He sighed. Wasn't this just par for the course! Nearly every bloody time he got close to kissing his enticing lady -

His eyes suddenly widened.

"_Hey!_" he yelled, leaping off the rock, scaring Marguerite into jerking out her pistol and turning wildly to look for danger. Ned's amusement vanished into alarm as well, and he dropped into a defensive crouch. Then John took off at a dead run back toward Challenger and Veronica.

Ned and Marguerite, who couldn't see what had gotten him so riled up, exchanged concerned looks and quickly followed.

George and Veronica had risen to their feet as they heard Roxton's shout and saw him come barreling toward them. But he dashed on past, charging knee deep into the river before he turned to look up into the trees that overhung the water there. His brown eyes had darkened with concentration, searching above him intently as he waded back and forth along the river's shore line.

"Roxton?"

"I remember, George! I remember!" he said hoarsely, not looking toward the bank, but continuing to scan the branches overhead.

"He remembers," Veronica repeated eagerly to Ned and Marguerite as they arrived.

They moved along the shore, keeping even with the hunter as he continued to scan the trees. "I felt that current grab at us, when we were a little further out than this," he told them as he craned his neck. "And I realized it was too strong, that we weren't going to make it across. I didn't want to risk losing the back pack to the river, and we couldn't go back to land with the ape men almost right on our heels, so I tossed it up into the branches for safekeeping until we could come back for it." He stopped about twenty feet down from where he and Marguerite had plunged into the river that morning, and pointed. "There it is!"

He motioned to Ned. "Come here. I'll boost you up."

Ned promptly waded out to him. John knelt in the water, and, once Ned was seated on his shoulders, stood carefully. "Can you reach it?" he asked anxiously, looking up as best he could.

"Hold on," Ned followed the direction of John's pointing hand and shook his head. "It's really up there, Roxton. No wonder we couldn't spot it! There are too many branches between it and the ground to have spotted it from anywhere but here in the river! I'm going to have to stand on your shoulders. Give me your hand."

John held up his arm, and Ned leaned on it to steady himself as he shifted from sitting on John's broad shoulders to standing on them. He still couldn't reach the hastily tossed backpack, though.

Marguerite waded out to join them, catching hold of John's other arm to brace herself against the current as she raised her rifle to Ned. "Here, use this."

Ned caught hold of the rifle barrel and used the weapon to snag a shoulder strap of the backpack. He tugged it loose from the tree branches, and caught John's bulky pack when it fell free. "Got it!" he exulted, waving it excitedly.

"Look out, Ned!" John howled, wavering and desperately trying to regain his footing as Ned's gyrations made him stumble. Marguerite caught John around the waist and tried to stabilize him, but it was too late.

Ned's arms flailed wildly as he attempted to grab hold of a branch, losing his hold on the backpack. He fell abruptly, taking John with him, and Marguerite, too, in the process. They came up sputtering, and looked anxiously around. "The pack! Do you have the pack?" Ned demanded, full of dread.

"I have it."

The three of them looked toward the riverbank, where a smug Veronica was holding the missing backpack on the end of the stick she'd been using as a cane. It hadn't even hit the water, thanks to the jungle girl's quick reaction time and good eye.

Relieved, Roxton grinned, then growled at Ned and dunked him. The reporter came up laughing, and splashed back. The two men indulged in a little tension-relieving splash competition, much to the amusement of Challenger and Veronica from the bank.

Marguerite, though, stumbled back to her feet and slogged her way to dry ground. She took the troublesome pack from Veronica and knelt, opening it and pulling out the rabbit-skin-wrapped package. She carefully opened it and slowly turned the stone over in her hands, making sure it was undamaged. Only once she was certain did she sit back on her heels, and relax. She handed the stone to George Challenger, who was eager to examine it, and watched the two men with a smile playing about her lips.

Roxton and Ned emerged from the water a few minutes later, declaring the contest a tie, totally soaked and still laughing. Ned joined Veronica and Challenger looking at the Bu'tah artifact, and Roxton extended a hand to Marguerite.

She accepted it, rising with his aid, and smiled mischievously up at him. "It was the timing of the interruption, wasn't it?" she asked knowingly, referring to what had brought his memory back.

The tall hunter shrugged his broad shoulders, grinning. "Either that, or it was the anticipation of kissing you, my dear," he replied with a wink.

Her smile widened. "Welcome back, John," she said softly and went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. But she found herself facing a beaming George Challenger instead as the scientist clapped John on the back of his shoulder and the unexpected impact sent John staggering a couple steps to the left, out of her reach.

"Well done, old - oops." He went as red-faced as his hair as he realized he had interrupted yet another of the couple's attempts to share a romantic moment.

Marguerite glared at him, then looked at John with a quirked brow. "You see?"

He sighed and flashed his lopsided grin at his lady. "You're right. It must have been the timing of the interruption. It's so bloody familiar! No wonder it brought my memory back!"

His resigned growl made her grin again.

The others burst out laughing.

* * *

Marguerite hesitated as she saw John out on the balcony enjoying the sunset and a quiet moment. It had been a very long month, with first the unexpected Bu'tah conflict, then the nerve-wracking trip to find the artifact and bring it back, followed by three weeks of sunup to sundown backbreaking labor alongside the Zanga and Bu'tah to rebuild what had so nearly been destroyed.

She and John hadn't had a moment to themselves in all that time . . . until now.

She'd been thinking a lot about that favor she owed him, in thanks for his efforts to enable her to bathe during that trek home weeks ago. She'd also been thinking about his statement that friends shouldn't keep secrets, and she'd decided on a way to pay him back for that wonderful bath, even though she hadn't remained clean for long.

She was going to answer whatever question he might ask with as much truth as she could muster. She took a step forward, then hesitated. She must be crazy to be thinking about doing this! She started to turn away again, then stopped. No, John deserved something from her in return for his devotion and faith in her. All she could do was hope he didn't ask the wrong thing.

She stepped onto the balcony, moving to his side at the railing. "Penny for your thoughts," Marguerite offered quietly.

He smiled at her, and dropped his arm casually over her shoulders. "I was just thinking about how ridiculously impossible all of this seemed, when I didn't remember the last three years."

She gave him a light punch in the chest. "It was very ungentlemanly of you to doubt my word, Lord Roxton," she admonished with laughter rising in her eyes.

"I know. It's a gentleman's duty to always believe what a lady tells him," he grinned, quoting her own words back at her, remembering how she'd chastised him for questioning her motives even before they had found the plateau so long ago.

"Exactly," she replied haughtily, relishing the gleam in his bright green eyes.

She half expected him to remind her, as he had back then, that he was no more a gentleman than she was a lady, but he tactfully omitted that reflection. "This plateau really has changed us. Fairy tales now seem more real than imaginary, don't you think?"

She winced a little, and saw his green eyes sharpen. She knew he'd caught her overreaction to his simple question, but she'd made a vow to herself and meant to keep it.

So this was to be the topic she'd be totally honest about. Here went nothing. "Oh, well, actually, despite what I've been known to claim to the contrary, I've always believed in fairy tales and faeries, John," she replied simply, trying to keep her tone light, though she knew her alert hunter was watching her keenly after seeing her first response.

He shifted so he could look straight down into her face, half suspecting that she was teasing him. "Have you, now?" He was surprised to find that there was no trace of humor in her lovely eyes. She wasn't joking. Could she really have -? Tentatively he asked, "Did you ever see any faeries at the faerie ring at Avebury?" He knew that she'd been near his family home as a child.

"Yes."

His jaw dropped.

Marguerite braced herself to face his derision.

Then, to her complete amazement, his face lit up with delight and he cupped her chin in his hand and tenderly kissed her lips. When he raised his head again, he shocked her by saying, with complete sincerity, "I saw them, too. Thank you for telling me, Marguerite. I've always wanted to meet someone else who would admit the faeries were real. I should have known it would be you! But what made you tell me the truth?" He would never have expected her to admit such a thing to him, or to anyone else for that matter.

Marguerite, still stunned, haltingly explained her desire to thank him for his generosity on the trail back to the Zanga village, and her decision about showing her gratitude by truthfully answering any question he asked, instead of keeping secrets from him.

Delighted, John kissed her again. "It's a wonderful gift, Marguerite. Thank you," he whispered against her cheek.

"Did you really see them, too, or are you just humoring me?" she asked him tentatively. She could hardly dare to believe it was true. All of this time, she'd never known there was someone so close with whom she could share her wonderful memories of the incredible little beings!

"I really did see them, many times." John assured her seriously. "Mind you, I knew better than to say anything about them to anyone else. Of course, if it had happened here on the plateau, no one would have thought it fanciful, but back home - Well, of course, you know how it would've been."

"Oh, yes, I do know," she said softly. "I did talk about it."

Younger than John had probably been, she hadn't expected the mockery and cruelty that had followed her innocent talk of dancing with the faeries in the faerie ring at Avebury.

"Uh-oh," he grimaced, well able to imagine just what had happened. Yet another thorn to bear in her lonely and unhappy past! "That must not have been pleasant. Want to tell me about it?"

She looked up into his warm green eyes, so full of sympathetic understanding, and relaxed with a sigh. "Yes, John, I think it would be nice to tell you all about it."

As they walked to the balcony bench together, Marguerite reflected that she was very glad they'd been stranded together here in this lost world.

Finding Roxton was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

***************


End file.
